


Got You(r) Back

by Shearmouth



Category: The X-Files
Genre: And also cusses a lot internally, Cuddling and Blankets and Traumatic Brain Injuries Oh My, Dana Scully is a Badass, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt Fox Mulder, Hurt/Comfort, Missing Scene, Mystery-hunting agents looking after one other, Post Episode: s03e10 731
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-11-02 06:04:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20646746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shearmouth/pseuds/Shearmouth
Summary: "Mulder, you look like crap.""Aren't doctors supposed to have a warmer bedside manner?""Aren't FBI agents supposed to have some concept of risk management?"Missing scene after S3E10 "731." Mulder's pretty beat up. Scully looks after him.





	Got You(r) Back

Despite several years in the Bureau, Scully had never forgotten her Hippocratic oath.

Of course, it had been bent a few times– she’d had to shoot, attack or otherwise injure multiple people in her line of work. Yet despite the gory realities of her post, the do-no-harm tenet had always remained fixed in her moral compass.

Yet here she was, seriously considering breaking it, just so she could kill her partner for worrying her so much.

Scully blew out a harsh breath and rose from her chair. She began pacing the small, crowded room in the basement that served as her and Mulder’s base. With its file piles and cryptic posters and chronic smell of too-strong coffee, the space usually brought her comfort. Everywhere it held traces of Mulder, and more recently, of her, and they had worked case after increasingly odd case and brought the results back here. But today, all the office did was hammer home her anxiety. And the profound, steadily growing urge in her to murder her wayward companion.

It had been over two hours since Mulder had dropped off the phone, and for most of that time, Scully’s anxiety had crept closer. The last thing she had heard before the line cut out was Mulder grunting, the sounds of impact, the ripping roar of metal flying apart. She’d been unable to establish contact since then, and her calls to neighboring law enforcement agencies to Mulder’s last known location had turned up nothing.

She had to stop herself several times from jumping in the car and driving out herself. But Mulder had been hours away, and she couldn’t risk leaving in case he reestablished contact and needed her to run interference.

But if there was one thing Dana Scully M.D. couldn’t goddamn stand, it was waiting for men. She’d grown more patient since joining Mulder– his strange thought process and spontaneous obsessions had somehow made her more tolerant of masculine bullshit– but the other big thing she loathed was being left out of the loop. With every passing minute, the morbid possibilities of what could be happening to Mulder grew in strength. Scully could feel her mental defenses, already strained from a long week, beginning to fray. 

Scully paced. It was getting late. The sounds of the floor above her were growing quieter, and she could sense that the sun was close to down. She considered going to get more coffee from the first floor vending machine. She decided against it.

The phone rang.

Scully lunged for it. “Hello?”

“_Agent Dana Scully?” _an unfamiliar voice answered.

Scully’s stomach twisted. “Yes? Who is this?”

“_This is Memorial Community Hospital in Lily, West Virginia. We have a patient by the name of Fox Mulder who was just brought in.” _

Scully gripped the edge of the desk hard enough to make the pads of her hands sting. “How is he?”

“_Well, Agent Scully, he seems to have taken quite the beating. He’s stable and awake, but he’s confused. He gave us this number and kept insisting we call it.” _

“Yes, I’m his partner.” Scully pulled out a piece of paper and pen. “What’s the hospital address?”

An hour later, Scully was still driving west. The land had begun to buckle and rear with the features of Appalachia. A bloody sunset cast the growing mountains into shadow, lending teeth to the coming night. 

Scully kept her eyes resolutely on the road as she tried her best not to think. It was no easy task. She’d always been a thinker, operating from her intellect more than her instinct. It was Mulder who was perpetually throwing himself blindly into the unknown on little more than a hunch.

Three years ago, she wouldn’t have tolerated working with someone like that. She couldn’t have. Not someone she cared about, who scared her this much, this often. Yet for Mulder she always seemed willing to make an exception.

They made a good team, yes, but it was more than that. While she didn’t pay credence to the majority of Mulder’s theories (even if the bastard was right most of the time), she had found herself growing attached, almost addicted, to the way he could stretch her brain out. With every case they worked, there seemed to be some new discovery waiting to happen.

And some new danger from which they had to protect one another.

She’d never worked with a single partner this long. She tried not to think about what would happen the day the axe fell, as was inevitable. There would come a time they would probe too deep, push too far, and they’d either get fired or killed. It was just a matter of which came first.

From the sound of it, Mulder had come damn close to the latter this time.

She tried not to think about that either.

The night closed around her as she drove on.

It was a two-and-a-half-hour drive to Lily, West Virginia. By the time Scully pulled into the hospital parking lot, it was past ten. She stood, her stiff joints popping, and walked briskly into the foyer. Nerves churned in her gut. If Mulder had been coherent enough to provide the staff with Scully’s number, he couldn’t be too critically hurt. Still, from the sound of it, he had been put through the wringer. Again.

She approached the desk. The receptionist looked up curiously.

“I’m here to see Fox Mulder,” Scully said. She showed her ID. “He came in a few hours ago.”

“Yes,” the receptionist nodded, “Agent Scully? Follow Jim over there.”

An orderly led her through the wide white halls to a ward room. He opened the door quietly and peeked in. “He’s asleep now, ma’am,” he said.

“It’s all right,” Scully said. “Please just let me in.”

The orderly stepped aside, leaving the door ajar. Scully entered. A nurse stood from where she had sat at Mulder’s bedside and left the room, closing the door behind her. Wired from paranoia and years of training, Scully watched her leave, and made sure she shut the door. Then she turned back to face the bed, and Scully stilled.

She’d seen Mulder in a hospital bed plenty of times. But even now, it made her stomach drop to see him hurt. He was usually so kinetic, all theories and movement and feeling, that whenever Scully saw him so silent and still, it looked so wrong, the way a dislocated limb looks wrong. Mulder lay with his face turned toward her, chest rising and falling jaggedly in sleep. His face was a mess of bruises. His nose had been broken and reset. The whole right side of his head was swollen and cut. They’d cleaned the worst of the dried blood off him, but he still looked grisly.

Scully glanced at his vitals. Despite the uneven breathing– a result of the broken ribs, she speculated–everything was stable. His chest was bare, showing taped ribs.

She scanned his chart, glancing read the EMS SOAP note. He’d been found unconscious. She panned down further to where the attendant physician had reported his final diagnoses of three broken ribs, two cracked, and a moderate traumatic brain injury. There’d been no signs so far of increasing intercranial pressure.

Stable. He was stable.

Scully sighed, in both fatigue and relief. She replaced the file, then sat carefully on the edge of the bed. Mulder didn’t stir.

“Idiot,” she muttered softly but fondly, brushing some hair out of Mulder’s face.

She really should have expected some kind of stress reaction. It was still a little startling when Mulder’s eyes snapped open, and he lashed out at her with a frightened yelp. Scully dodged the clumsy blow easily, then caught his wrist and immobilized his arms before he could do more damage to himself.

“Mulder! Mulder, it’s me,” she cried. “Settle down. You’re safe.”

Mulder blinked rapidly, focusing in on her. “Scully?”

“Yes. It’s okay, Mulder. Breathe.”

Mulder relaxed some, then squeezed his eyes shut and groaned in pain.

Scully stood and dimmed the lights. She’d been concussed enough times to know how unpleasant consciousness could be. She sat back down, taking Mulder’s hand again. His knuckles were split and swollen.

She huffed out a breath. “Mulder, you look like crap.”

Mulder didn’t open his eyes, but he smirked weakly. “Aren’t doctors supposed to have a warmer bedside manner?”

“Aren’t FBI agents supposed to have some concept of risk management?” she retorted cooly. Mulder chuckled painfully.

“What happened, Mulder?” Scully asked, more gently.

Mulder gingerly rubbed the eye that wasn’t swollen almost entirely shut. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I woke up in an ambulance.”

“What’s the last thing you remember? Why did you break contact?”

“I was talking to you,” Mulder murmured, open eye fixed on the ceiling in concentration. “I was attacked. He hit me on the head, I didn’t see who it was. Then he…” Mulder gestured to his pulped-up face. “Knocked me out quick. Next thing I know I’m on a gurney. The doctor said they found me next to the train tracks, and the train had been blown up.”

Scully’s head spun. She was far too tired for this. “Why would the person who attacked you not just blow you up too?”

“Maybe they tried,” Mulder replied. “And maybe someone else got me out. I really have no idea.” Frustration tinted his words.

Scully grimaced. “Look, I have to get you out of here. Whoever came after you could still be out there, looking for you. I’m reluctant to move you–“

“I’m fine, Scully,” Mulder protested. “I got hit on the head and have a few broken ribs, that’s all.”

“You sustained a TBI, Mulder, you know how–“

“Scully.” Mulder’s voice dropped low and serious, and Scully’s eyes snapped up to his. “Please. I just… I want to go home.”

With a startled jolt, she realized he was rattled. Sympathy, affection, and a ferocious protectiveness churned in her chest, and she realized abruptly that all she wanted was to go home too.

Scully nodded. “Okay. Let me talk to the attending and I’ll get you signed out.”

When Scully returned to the room, Mulder had managed to lever himself into a sitting position and was looking around the room in confusion.

“The EMTs cut your shirt off,” Scully said, answering his unspoken question. “I got you one from the lost and found.” She placed it on his knee so she could start disconnecting him. Mulder looked up at her, gratitude plain in his face. He was always expressive, but exhaustion and pain had rendered him even more so. Right now he looked so wrung out that Scully couldn’t help but think of a kicked puppy looking at him.

Mulder started to lift his arms into the shirt and grunted in pain, going still.

Scully placed a gentle hand on his forearm. “Let me help you,” she said. For once, Mulder complied, lowering his arms obediently and allowing Scully to gently work the shirt on.

“They have you on painkillers?” Scully asked.

“I’m not sure what they gave me, but my ribs sure don’t hurt like they should.”

“Yeah, well, when whatever it is wears off, you’re not going to want to do much more than body-hug a pillow.” Scully had been the unhappy recipient of broken ribs before. Tape helps, but unless you’re lying on the broken side or holding something soft and firm under your armpit all the time, breathing becomes a uniquely repetitive torture. Scully snagged Mulder’s medical report from the monitor. She’d look over what they’d given him later.

They’d left Mulder in his pants, which was helpful for multiple reasons. Scully disconnected him from the monitor and slung her bag over her shoulder. Mulder seemed mentally preparing himself for the idea of standing up. Scully felt a pang of regret that they had to move. The fact that thus far he hadn’t shown signs of ICP meant hopefully Scully wouldn’t need to worry about his brain swelling and squeezing down his spinal column before the night was out. Still, he wouldn’t be out of the woods for at least 24 hours, and monitoring for that kind of thing is much easier in a hospital.

Not for the first time, Scully reflected on how damn lucky Mulder was that she was a medical doctor.

Mulder swung his legs over the bed and stood up carefully. Any blood left in his face promptly departed, and he swayed. Scully steadied him.

“You sure you’re up for this?” she asked lowly.

Mulder grimaced. “Can’t stay here.”

The walk out to the car was blessedly uneventful, as Mulder seemed to regain his feet. Still, Scully watched him intently and stayed close enough to him to support him if he started to go down. When they reached the car, Scully unlocked the doors and crossed to the passenger side. She lowered the seat back and propped the pillow she’d nicked from the hospital room against the center console.

When she straightened, she found Mulder leaning against the chassis, eyelids drooping. Scully bundled him carefully into the passenger seat, trying to tune out the noises of pain he failed to fully hide. She was a doctor. Though she did not practice, she had seen her fair share of people in pain, and she’d become skilled at emotionally ignoring it. Yet somehow, when Mulder was hurt, it hurt her. Another exception he claimed.

Mulder settled into the seat with a strained sigh, eyelids fluttering shut. Scully rested her hand against his less injured jaw. “You can sleep,” Scully said, “but I’m waking you up every now and then.”

“Cruel wench,” Mulder muttered, half-smirking through his split lips. Scully rolled her eyes. She took her own seat, locked the doors, and started the car, turning the heater up.

The radio was on, the music quiet. Mulder shifted in his seat, but didn’t open his eyes as he murmured thickly, “Oh, I love this song.”

Scully focused in. She snorted. _Everybody Wants to Rule the World. _“That’s a little morbidly ironic, isn’t it?” she replied.

Mulder didn’t answer. Scully tuned in to his breathing. He was already asleep.

Despite her exhaustion, and the bright cords of worry still thrumming in her bones, Scully scoffed fondly. She rested her gear-shift hand against Mulder’s knee as she drove into the Appalachian midnight.

Though she was tired, the threat of faceless pursuers–or, perhaps more likely, suicidal deer– kept Scully wired throughout the drive. True to her promise, she woke Mulder a few times. He did little more than shift and groan irritably, but he could recite the atomic number of whatever element Scully quizzed him with, so she wasn’t too worried. It was still with a rush of relief that she finally pulled into her neighborhood. She hadn’t seen a car behind her until she entered the city, but she still took an unusual route to her apartment, and pulled up against the curb in the shadows across the street. Mulder blinked awake just as she was putting the car into park.

He sat up slowly. “What…?”

“You’re staying with me tonight,” Scully said, allowing no brokering for argument in her tone.

Mulder, of course, argued anyway. “Scully, I’m fine, really.”

She turned the car off and glared at him. “You want your brain to swell and leak down your spine hole? No, I don’t think so. And since you’re not going to be able to call for help when you’re incoherent, vomiting, and have a headache to split continents, you need someone to look after you for the next 18 hours and monitor you for symptom development.”

Mulder stared at her. With the fractured streetlights and the smudges of bruising on his face, he looked almost unfamiliar. Still, the smirk was unmistakable when he replied, “Spine hole? Spine hole, Dr. Scully?”

Scully scowled. “Foramen magnum. Sue me. Now shut up and stay put while I check the apartment.” Mulder was still chuckling when she locked the car behind her. She scanned the street, but it was empty. So was the stairwell, and her apartment. She checked every corner, behind every door, but the space was clear. She left the lights on and went to retrieve Mulder.

He was already asleep when she opened the passenger side door. She shook him gently. “C’mon, Mulder. Just a little ways more and then you can sleep.”

Mulder woke with a grunt, open eye scanning the area. He seemed to relax when he remembered where they were and why. “Okay,” he murmured.

Scully lifted the seat slowly, then hooked an arm under Mulder’s shoulders. She counted down, and on three they stood. Mulder bit back a low whine and squeezed his eyes shut.

“Sorry,” murmured Scully.

“Don’t–don’t be,” Mulder gasped.

Scully handed him the pillow, and he clamped it against his side. She hated this.

She hated how much she hated this.

She locked the car. Together they shuffled across the road toward the apartment building. Mulder could barely walk. Scully hoped it was only exhaustion and pain causing his lack of coordination. They paused at the base of the stairs. Scully lived on the second floor, and it wasn’t too far up, but Mulder still seemed to blanch at the prospect of ascent. Scully mentally cursed her building’s lack of elevators.

“You okay?” she asked him softly. Mulder nodded, and set his jaw stubbornly. They began to ascend.

About halfway up, Mulder faltered. He was breathing shakily, eyes squeezed shut, and Scully felt a shudder run through him.

“Mulder, sit down,” Scully prompted. He didn’t seem to register her words, so Scully gently guided him down until he was sitting on the stairs. His face was chalky.

Scully nudged him until he was pressing the pillow against the wall of the stairwell and leaning his injured ribs into it. Then she sat up behind him and leaned him back against her chest. He curled his head into her shoulder, eyes still shut and breathing still labored. Scully felt another rush of sympathy, and directionless rage.

“See what happens when you ditch me?” she asked wryly, brushing his hair out of his face.

Mulder scoffed a weak laugh. “Not my fault everyone wants to kill me.”

Scully raised an eyebrow. “You know that’s not entirely true.”

She expected an indignant reply. When she didn’t get one, she leaned down, concerned. “Mulder?”

His good eye was open, looking at nothing. Exhaustion and contrition were evident in his bruised face. “Sorry, Scully.”

She frowned. “What, for ditching me? It’s fine, Mulder–“

“No, not– I mean, yeah, but no, I’m sorry…I’m sorry you have to put up with me. With this.”

Scully blinked, surprised. “Mulder, what–?”

“I mean,” Mulder cut through, sounding strung out but insistent, urgent, “I’m sure this isn’t what you expected when you joined the FBI– working in the basement, chasing insane leads with the weird guy who believes in aliens and who’s the butt of every academy joke. You’re worth so much, Scully, you’re so talented at this game, and–and–I’m just, I’m sorry that you ended up stuck with me.” Mulder kept his eye fixed on nothing as he spoke.

Scully was stunned. In the three years of knowing him, she had never heard Mulder talk with so much self-disrespect. Rarely had she ever seen his conviction in himself or his beliefs so shaken. She was confident is was a result of trauma and exhaustion, and she wouldn’t press him on it here, but she made a mental note to address it later. Mulder already carried more than his fair share of grief and guilt. He had for over two decades. Scully would be damned if he accumulated more just because of the endless teasing and taunting of the people upstairs in the Bureau. Even one so accustomed to it as he could have their defenses worn down after long enough.

But for now, she opted to raise an eyebrow and say, “Is this your way of saying you want to get rid of me, Mulder?”

Mulder’s gaze shot up to hers. “Never,” he whispered. The rawness in his eyes and voice made Scully go still again.

She reached down and took his hand. “Relax, I’m not going anywhere,” she said gently. She nudged his shoulder. “But we do need to get off this stairwell. Come on.”

With a few more minutes of painful finagling, they managed to ascend the last bit of the stairs. They paused at the door to Scully’s apartment as she fished out her keys. Mulder was still swaying. Scully nudged him so he leaned against the wall while she got the door open. Then she gently prompted him inside.

“I’m going to put you on the pull-out,” Scully said. She helped Mulder sit down in the armchair so she could make the bed. “It’s closest to the bathroom. You’re sure you don’t feel nauseous?”

“Sick of being in pain, but other than that, no,” Mulder quipped. He rested his forehead against his knuckles. To Scully he looked about as worn out as she’d ever seen him. She knew how much the events of the day bothered him– not only to come so close to a source of potential proof, but to be beaten unconscious and mysteriously dumped next to the train tracks. Mulder’s autonomy meant more to him than to most. Scully imagined it had to do with being paralyzed when Samantha was taken. To be missing a hefty chunk of time, to be unable to account for how he got somewhere– Scully knew how much it would get to her, and how it had to be getting to him.

She stretched out the pull-out bed and threw on some soft flannel sheets and a warm, weighty blanket. And just in case Mulder did get sick, she left a large salad bowl next to the bed.

Scully then crossed to where Mulder sat. “Hey,” she murmured. “You okay?”

Mulder looked up, but didn’t quite meet her eyes. “Yeah. Yeah. Thanks, Scully. I owe you one.”

Scully rolled her eyes. “Hardly. Now come on, young man, it’s well past your bedtime.”

Mulder chuckled, wincing. Scully gently hooked a hand under his shoulder and helped him up. They crossed to the bed, and Mulder eased back onto it, face tight with hidden pain. When he was horizontal, he let out a massive breath and went theatrically boneless. Scully would’ve laughed, and teased him for it, if he didn’t look so pathetic. Mulder’s eyes were already sliding shut.

Smirking fondly, Scully undid the laces of Mulder’s shoes and worked them off his feet. Mulder tried to sit up and help, and Scully waved him off. He relaxed back into the pillows, and by the time Scully had finished and pulled the blanket over him, Mulder’s eyes were fluttering.

Scully brushed some of his hair back from his forehead. It had become a habit of hers, when one of them was hurt. She’d never been overly tactile with her affections until Mulder came along.

If she really sat down and thought about it, Scully was almost scared of the ease with which Mulder had sized up her various internal walls and promptly knocked holes in them. She wasn’t sure yet if it was light coming through those holes, or something else. Something even less controllable.

Mulder reached up and gently took her hand. “Get some sleep, Scully,” he murmured. “You need it too.”

“I will,” Scully said. “I’m just in the next room. If you need anything, call. I’ll check on you in a few hours.”

“Okay.” Mulder squeezed her hand gently. “Thanks, Scully. Really.”

And again, in the gravity of his words and the subtle fear that haunted his face, Scully could see how much this most recent assault had shaken her often-fearless partner. She squeezed back, then released him. “Of course.”

She dimmed most of the lights, and left him to sleep.

When Scully woke, she knew immediately that is was still night. At first she thought it was the alarm she had set that roused her, but a glance at her clock showed that it was only 2:30, a good hour before she’d intended to get up and check Mulder.

Scully frowned and sat up, confused. Feeble orange light from the streetlights snuck through the cracks in her blinds, casting creepy shadows across her room. The refrigerator hummed in the kitchen. A dog barked in the distance. Nothing seemed amiss.

Scully felt for her holstered weapon on her night table.

From out in the living room came a whimper. _Mulder. _

Scully exhaled forcefully, and put her weapon down. She rose and padded out into the living room.

Mulder was curled up with his face against the wall of the couch in a position that must have been killing his ribs. The blanket had been kicked to the foot of the mattress, and he’d pulled the sheet tight around his body. A thin sheen of sweat glittered on his neck. As Scully watched, Mulder muttered and kicked out, then seemed to curl even tighter.

Scully’s stomach dropped.

“Mulder,” she called. She sat next to him and shook his shoulder. “Mulder! Can you hear me? I need you to wake up. Mulder–“

With a gasp, Mulder bolted upright. His chest heaved, and his eyes were wide and terrified. His gaze flicked around the room.

“Mulder, you’re in my apartment,” Scully said soothingly. “You’re safe.”

Mulder breathed hard. “Scully?” he said, sounding small. His pupils looked even, at least.

“Mulder, are you nauseous at all? Does your head hurt?”

Mulder shook his head, but he still seemed shell-shocked. Scully looked him over. One of the cuts on his cheek was bleeding. Ignoring all the rules of PPE, Scully gently wiped the blood off his face with her thumb.

Mulder caught her wrist in his hand. “Scully,” he said again, like he was making sure of something. Then he seemed to go boneless again, and his forehead fell softly onto Scully’s shoulder.

Scully tensed at the sudden contact, then relaxed. She slid her arm around Mulder and eased him forward until he had relaxed against her, hiding his face in the crook of her neck. She breathed out as they both depressurized. Ever since that first night in Oregon, when Scully got scared by the mosquito bites on her back and embraced Mulder in relief, touch had always been easy between them. Easy, but unique– for Scully it was different from the familiar warmth of cuddling with her sisters, or the slightly stiff hugs she would sometimes share with her friends at the academy. There was never any awkwardness or unspoken risk between them when they touched. It was like a small homecoming.

Scully ran her hand over the planes of Mulder’s back. “Are you okay?” she asked softly.

“Nightmare,” Mulder murmured into her shoulder. His breath was warm on her collarbone. Scully relaxed a little more. So that explained the thrashing and sweat.

“Was it Samantha?” Scully knew that of all of what he had endured, the night of his sister’s disappearance haunted him most deeply. He’d never hidden what had happened, but it took longer for Scully to fully grasp how profoundly the mystery had traumatized him. How it bit at his heels even now.

Mulder flinched against her. “No. It was you.”

Scully’s heart broke a little. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Mulder shook his head. His hair was soft against Scully’s jawline. “Okay,” she murmured. “It’s okay, Mulder. I’m right here.”

A deep, shuddering sigh left him. “I’m sorry I woke you.”

Scully smiled, soft and sad. “That’s okay too.”

For a short while they sat like that, holding one another. For a few precious moments Scully let herself believe that someday they’d be safe, that they’d have the answers they needed, that they could finally rest. That for all their wandering and wondering, there would come a time when they wouldn’t need to run and hide and fight. That they would be able to trust people other than each other. That someday they’d wake each other up because they were bored, not jolted awake from nightmares or pursued by faceless assassins.

But now, in this moment, they were safe only in each other. Maybe it would always be that way. But Scully didn’t let her thoughts wander to the future.

Instead, she coaxed Mulder into lying back down. She burrowed under the blanket and curled up beside him so they were back to back, the warmth of his body through his soft cotton shirt soothing her. His breaths began to settle and slow.

As sleep began to take her, Mulder whispered to her in the dark, “Please don’t leave.”

Light, yes. It must be light coming through. Nothing else could make this rubble feel like home.

“I won’t, Mulder,” she murmured. The words thrummed through her bones into his. “I’ve got your back. I’m not going anywhere.”

Mulder sighed. When he relaxed and went still, Scully felt the echo of his energy move through her.

_ I almost lost him. _

The thought came in fully formed and heavy. Scully’s heart lurched.

Mulder shifted gently against her. Strong and whole and _here. _

_ But I didn’t. _

The night was quiet. The stars were out. Her partner lay safely beside her. Scully closed her eyes, at last letting the fear of the last day slough off. She listened to the sound of Mulder’s breathing, and it coaxed her softly into sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all, thanks for reading! Please leave a review if you have a moment. Hope you enjoyed!


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